On March
29, 1968 we reached Camp Bao Cao. In Vietnamese that means, "please
may I". The prisoners named this camp as such because we were trained
to bow and say "Bao Cao" every time we asked for food and other
things that we needed. Days later, I heard a familiar voice. Much to my
surprise, my Filipino friend and co-worker at VOA, Arturo Balagot also
arrived. I felt relieved knowing there was another Filipino in camp. We
were interrogated here and kept under solitary confinement for three months.
Our cells were approximately six feet long, 4 feet wide and 6 feet high
and no windows. Here we were allowed to bathe outside next to a big barrel
of cold water and were allowed to shave. We were fed twice a day with
rice and a little bit of vegetable soup that was mostly water.

Pop
stayed in cell #2

I discovered a poem on the wall in
this room and I copied it on a cigarette wrapper. I believe an American
Air Force pilot once occupied it:

High Flight

O I have slipped the surely bonds
of earth and danced the skies on laughter silvered wings

Sunward I've climbed and chased the
shouting wind along and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds
and done a hundred things you have not dreamed of

Up, up the long delirious burning
blue, I've flung my sturdy eager craft through footless halls of air

I've topped the windswept heights
with easy grace where never lark or even eagle flew and while with
silent lifting mind

I've trod the high untrespassed sanctity
of space and put out my hand and touched the face of God.

Around the first week of July 1968,
we were transported by truck and traveled a dirt road called the Ho Chi
Minh Trail. After walking everyday for several months, the thought of
riding in a truck seemed like luxury.

Asterisks
indicate prison camp. The Ho Chi Minh Trail is a dirt road that
stretches across the boundaries of Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia. This trail
was bombed constantly, but because of a large work crew, it was repaired
as soon as it was destroyed.

(With
Marc Cayer's permission, map and illustration above with some modification,
was taken from his book 'Prisoner in Vietnam' )

We had big smiles on our faces as
we got on. Several hours later, those smiles turned into grunts and moans.
The ride was so excruciating because the driver managed to hit every pothole
on the road. We were bouncing and being thrown everywhere. Sitting on
our folded blankets didn't do much good. We thought it would have been
better if we walked!